


Shaman Dance

by loveinadoorway



Category: Leverage
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-09
Updated: 2012-01-09
Packaged: 2017-10-29 06:41:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 461
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/316863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/loveinadoorway/pseuds/loveinadoorway
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Title: Shaman Dance<br/>Pairing/characters: Eliot, Nate, Hardison, Sophie, Parker<br/>Genre: gen<br/>Rating: PG<br/>Word count: 461<br/>Warnings: none<br/>Spoilers: none<br/>Disclaimers: Just borrowed. Borrowed with love.<br/>Summary: comment_fic prompt by phantisma: Leverage, Nate & team, playing god</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shaman Dance

The entire con ground to a screeching halt, as Nate saw Eliot freeze completely.

It had gone so smoothly up to that point. Hardison had put cameras and microphones all over the shaman’s “offices” and house. Nate had been at his smarmy best, convincing the shaman that he had offended a pagan god and was now basically fucked unless he performed a certain ritual.

The charlatanic shaman had done as charlatanic shamans are wont to do and Hardison was on the brink of transferring the money to the victims’ trust fund. Sophie had been incredible as the woman bravely battling pancreatic cancer and Parker had retrieved the secret accounting book with verve and elegance.

Nate had been well pleased with the job – just this side of overly complex and plenty of opportunity to say snappy things like “let’s steal a pagan god”.

But then the job had required Eliot to storm the shaman’s church and destroy the altar as Sophie’s angry brother and Eliot had just frozen in front of the altar.

Amidst all sorts of pseudo-esoteric bric a brac, there was an old crucifix and Eliot was staring at it, machete raised.

Nate’s mind was racing. How could he salvage the situation? Their entire getaway plan depended on Eliot putting the fear of God in the man. Figuratively speaking, of course. How could the sight of one ancient crucifix have put the fear of God in Eliot, Nate wondered.

“Eliot. Bro. Here’s what you do.” Hardison’s voice, of all people, came through over the earbuds. “You tell the guy that God is angry at him for putting his son next to all that ungodly shit. You hear me?”

Eliot ground out the sentence, as instructed. No argument for once. Eyes blazing, crazier than ever.

“Then you take the crucifix and stuff it into the back of your pants, like a gun. Okay? And THEN you chop the fuck out of the altar.”

Eliot complied, then obviously remembered the original plan, turned around and started roaring at people. The 20 or so members of the shaman’s congregation ran out of the “church” like headless chickens, shaman at the front.

The team quickly walked out by the backdoor and hopped into the waiting van.

“Eliot, what the hell was that?” Parker asked.

“That was a consecration cross.”

“How do you know that,” Sophie asked, voice incredulous.

“It’s a very distinctive.. you know… with the markings and the…” Eliot faltered, then resorted to glaring. “You don’t destroy a consecration cross. That’s blasphemy. It was blessed. It should go back to the church it belongs to.”  
More glaring until they all just nodded.

Of all the goddamned moments for Eliot to display some piety, this had been… ah well, all in a day’s work.


End file.
